


A Rowboat For the Two of Us

by magicites



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F, I promise it has a happy ending, Language Barrier, Weird magical bullshit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicites/pseuds/magicites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jade Harley has survived 13 years living on the edge of a town where her very existence is considered to be a bad omen. Her life of relative peace comes to a complete halt the day she's discovered.</p><p>Now trapped in the abandoned castle where all children with strange dog ears like her go to die, Jade befriends a fallen troll princess and fights against fate itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For you, I'll fall

**Author's Note:**

> This is essentially me taking the plot from the game ICO and shoving Homestuck characters into it. Though you don't need to play that in order to understand this!

Your life ends on a windy day.

You walk into town with a raggedy, patchwork sundress hand sewn by one of your best friends and imbued with love covering your body, a wide-brimmed, cheery sunhat decorating your head, and a basket you wove yourself from dead twigs and broken branches nestled on your arm.

You don’t go into town often, only ever to get supplies; it is too dangerous to risk a trip otherwise. But you had run out of food, and there was only so much you could gather out in the woods for yourself. The last remains of your grandfather’s once vast fortune jingles in your pocket, though it weighs on your heart heavier than it does your clothes.

“Three apples, please!” You tell the boy standing behind a small shack. He’s older than you, but not quite old enough to be an adult. He is a cute boy, one of the cutest you’ve ever seen, and you wish you could tell him that, but you refuse to risk his well-being that much.

He smirks, a lopsided, lazy attempt at a smile, though made of entirely genuine happiness. He turns around and digs into a crate at his feet, and you watch him curiously. When he faces you again, he holds four apples in his hands, each a bright, candy coloured green. He drops them into your basket, and when you try to offer him a few gold coins, he shakes his head.

“It’s no problem. Spend that on something more important than a couple of stupid apples.” He says.

You smile, and a warmth blossoms deep inside your chest, filling your entire body with joy. You love him with all of your heart, you really do, but getting closer than you already are would only end in disaster. You have to keep him safe! “Thank you, Dave! You really are the best.”

He shrugs. “I’ve had those saved for a while,” he explains, leaning on the stand. It creaks and shifts under his weight, sending the crates of apples on display tumbling forward. You gasp, and push them back, shock morphing to amusement as he tries to regain his composure.

He holds his arms up, and moves one to gently tap against the wood in front of him. He sighs in relief when it remains still, and you take the opportunity to inquire further. Why these apples, and not the ones right in front of him?

“What’s so special about these apples?”

He looks away, casting his eyes down and away from you. He’s an open book to you, each page splayed out, waiting for you to come close and read between his lines and absorb every piece of information about him you can.

He’s wonderful, he really is. All of your friends are, all three of them, each in their own special way. You keep them at a safe distance, never allow them to be seen with you in public unless it’s absolutely necessary, and they understand. They know why it’s dangerous too, but they’ve taken the chance for you and you love them all the more for it.

Dave Strider is, with every limb, every hair, every word that flows from between his lips, a warm summer day. He’s the sunshine on your face and the shade you rest in, and sometimes you wish you could trace each freckle that dapples his cheeks with your fingers until you’ve spelled out just what he means to you. You’re so, so grateful for him.

“They’re the same colour,” he murmurs, and you hum inquisitively, prompting him to continue. “As your eyes, you know.”

You giggle and grin at him, and even though he’s too far away for you to properly hug, you run your hands along his arms affectionately.

His cheeks darken, and you laugh harder. His embarrassment prompts him to look away. “It’s not funny. I spend most of my time either taking care of apples or keeping you out of trouble. Of course I’m bound to figure out what they look like,” he rambles, trying to save his dignity.

A snort that Rose would describe as completely unladylike escapes you, and that pushes him over the edge. You giggle together, his low chuckle harmonizing with your light laughter.

You hear footsteps crunching along the grass, and your mirth dies a silent death. You push his arm, and point in the direction of the sound. An imperceptible wave of realization floods his face, one that anyone else would never catch, and he wordlessly slips his own disguise back on. He hides a fragile heart behind an apathetic mask, but it keeps him safe from the dangers of the outside world.

You pull your hat down as far as it will possibly go before you even know what you’re doing (ignoring the spike of pain you feel at the gesture), and you spare Dave one last, tiny frown before you slip into your own mask. As far as anyone else knows, you’re just a traveling girl buying food from the cheapest stall you could find.

“Thank you,” you say, formally, coldly, and it stings to talk to Dave as if he’s a lifeless statue. He nods, and you hesitate. The footsteps are so close they pound inside your head now, but you don’t want to look to see who it is.

It could be one of the lord’s knights.

Arms wrap around your waist, and suddenly, you’re lifted off of your feet and into the air. It takes you a split second to realize who it is, but Dave’s grin of relief clues you in just before the a cheery laugh sounds in your ear.

“John!” You say, your body twisting and contorting as you try to escape. One hand never leaves the brim of your hat. “Put me down!”

“Pfff-hehehehe,” and finally, he sets you back down. You spin around and huff at him, putting on your fiercest glare, but he scrunches up his face in a mimicry of your expression, and you both break down. You laugh into each other obnoxiously, and when Dave groans at your show, you turn and laugh obnoxiously at him too.

Overwhelmed with joy and the sheer relief of seeing John again (it’s been so long since you last saw him; he’s gotten so much _taller_  and _older_  and it kind of scares you, just a little, because you’ve missed _so much_ ), your lips tilt upward into a full-blown smile, and even though your oddly shaped teeth are on display for everyone to see, you don’t care.

“Oh wow, it really has been so long since I last saw you, Jade,” John says. “I missed you a lot. We all did.”

“I missed you too, John,” you say. “If you can ever get out of training one day, you should come visit me!” You tell him excitedly. “I could show you the waterfall and all of the best trees to climb. It would be so much fun.”

You’ve picked out certain spots at certain times, ones that you thought they would especially enjoy: the waterfall in autumn for Rose, when the leaves change and the entire area is bathed in golden light; summer for Dave, when the air is hot but the shade is so, so cool; winter, for John, when the snow piles high and the cold nips at your nose.

Your favorite season is spring, when the wildflowers begin to bloom and your home explodes in an array of colour and beauty. You love the trees, the plants, the animals; every single thing you hold near and dear to your heart. You couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

“Where’s Rose?” John asks, eagerly swiveling his head around. “She said she could get out of the manor today.”

“I did indeed say that,” a voice says, and Rose strolls into view. A light parasol shades her from the sun, though the wind tears at it greedily, whipping it all around her. With a slight frown, she closes it and instead begins to use it as a cane.

“Rose!” You say happily, and rush towards her. You wrap your arms around her waist, and the parasol-turned-cane falls to the ground with a clatter as she returns the hug. You pull back and hold her at arm’s length, taking in the ‘disguise’ she used while making her way through town. The black lipstick and white powder covering her face is a fairly ineffective disguise, though her stained pink cheeks make her look like a fragile porcelain doll, ready to shatter at a moment’s notice.

Rose is not a fragile girl at all. To the town she presents a persona of a weak, defenseless girl, but that same persona is what protects her the most. She once told you that having an enemy underestimate you is the greatest advantage you could possibly have.

Even now, if anyone happens to walk by and recognize her, they’ll think that she’s being escorted back home by the youngest (and one of the most promising) of her father’s knights.

Too bad you and Dave don’t have any excuse as to why you’re traveling with them, but you’re certain that Rose’s quick wit will save you if worse comes to worse.

The wind sings through the air, and your dress ripples in time to its melody. Your hand clamps harder down on your hat, though it still flutters violently. The others shoot you worried glances, but you smile in a vain hope to end their fears.

Your heart pounds within your chest as you move closer and closer to town. Going in this far is always dangerous, even if it’s slightly safer when you’re with the others.

“Walk in pairs,” Rose says, looping her slender, elegant arm around John’s, “it’ll draw less attention.”

“How?” You ask, even though you’ve already grabbed Dave’s hand in yours. He looks over to you and his throat constricts as he swallows, straining against the tendons in his neck until he forces himself to relax.

“It’s easier to deal with rumors that John is courting me than it is for people to wonder how and why the lord’s  _precious treasure_ ,” she spits out those words venomously, her entire body tense, “is associating with peasants and strangers. Once they see me with John, they’ll ignore anything and everything else in the background.”

“But Rose, I don’t really want to court you! You’re my best friend, and I guess wouldn’t mind marrying you if it meant keeping your stupid suitors away, but you should marry who you fall in love with,” John says.

“In a better world, it really would be that simple,” Rose says, and you feel your heart break. You reach out and gently touch her shoulder. It’s the best attempt at reassurance you can manage, and she smiles back at you sadly.

You love all of your friends, you really do, enough to want to keep them safe and happy with all of your heart. They’re all so beautiful and funny and so absolutely  _perfect._  If you were to die today, at least you could die knowing that you’ve loved the best people you could have possibly loved.

A gust of wind shoots from behind you, and you and Dave stumble together. You let go of him in order to push your hat firmly down on your head, ignoring the sharp jolt as you do so. Better to hurt a little now than be punished much worse later.

Dave hesitantly reaches for your hand again once your hat is fixed, the back of his hand lightly brushing against yours. His fingers loop around to touch yours, but you’re the one to take the plunge and grasp him again.

His palm becomes moist with sweat, but you don’t mind.

“Dirk better fucking take his shift now,” Dave murmurs quietly. “Dad’s going to kill me if any of those apples get stolen.”

“If they do, then I’ll make sure to get father to pay your family back,” Rose says. She’s so certain, so sure of her power. You wish you could be like her sometimes, when you’re at home and prodding a dying flame. You wish you could share her security. “You won’t starve this winter. Neither of you will.”

“What about me?” John says, pouting, and Rose grins slyly. She slams her shoulder into his, and he nearly falls over from the impact. “Hey! Not fair!”

“Knights should know to expect surprise attacks,” she tells him, lifting her head up proudly. You all share your laughter, and you’re certain that you’re not the only one with a warm glow in your chest right now.

“Anyways, where are we going?” You ask. “Why are we going through here?” You’re at the edge of town now, surrounded by cottages and small gardens full of life. It makes you uneasy, despite the desire to explore further in. You want to learn every street and alleyway, but it’s too risky.

“There’s a really lovely glade by the manor. John has seen it before, but I want the two of you to see it,” Rose explains.

John’s eyes widen, and he gasps. “Oh! Rose, you don’t mean-“

“Shh!” She admonishes him, and he pouts childishly. You giggle, and gently push him. He looks back at you with the same pout, like he’s a starving puppy and you’re the monster that stole away his food.

You decide to trust the others. Nothing bad will happen as long as you get through the area quickly, right? You’ll be ok.

(You hope.)

You come into the town square, where a few dozen people are milling about. The knights standing guard near the local brick shops gawk at Rose and John together. You revel in the knowledge that their attention is focused on her, and not you.

A burst of wind comes from nowhere, wrapping around you and sending you stumbling forward yet again. You let go of Dave’s hand, and use it to try to brace yourself as you come crashing to the floor. Your basket shatters, and the bright green apples bruise themselves as they roll away.

The next few moments are nothing but a blur as the world spins around you. Your friends are shouting, and somewhere farther away you can hear unfamiliar voices. They shout words you can’t fully comprehend.

Your hands and knees burn, the skin ripped off when you tried to stop your fall. Your head no longer hurts.

You finally stand up, legs trembling for a reason you don’t fully understand. Chaos goes on around you, but you feel like you’re frozen in time.

Your ear twitches, and you reach up to scratch the junction where your jet black hair gives way to fluffy white fur, and you snap back into reality.

“Demon! Demon!” Is all you hear, crystal-clear now that your hat is gone. Your entire body trembles with fear. Your mouth is dry; you try to speak, but can’t.

Dave runs back to you, wide-brimmed hat in hand, but it’s too late. The guards surround you. One is holding Rose and John back. Both scream your name.

“No!  _Don’t you dare touch her_!” Rose is screaming,  _snarling_ , kicking and clawing at the armored body keeping her away. John elbows the metal helmet behind him, but two more guards appear and hold him still. You can hear him crying.

Dave, with his broken expression and simple clothes, stands in front of you. He’s crying.

You want to tell him its ok, but it’s not.

You know what happens to girls like you, with mutant dog ears and hopeless hearts.

“Take it away! Someone take it before it hurts the lady!”

A guard, clad from head to toe in iron armor (you saw John wearing the exact same armor once, but his shined bright with life and this one is the dull color of doom), runs toward you. In one smooth motion, Dave turns around and slams his fist into the helmet. The force sends the knight sprawling backwards.

“Run! Jade, run!” John is saying, but despite your instinct wanting to agree, you shake your head no. They’re all going to be punished if anyone finds out the truth.

In this town, dog-eared girls are a bad omen. If one is allowed to survive to adulthood, the town is supposedly doomed to a lifetime of bad crops and natural disasters wrecking the land. Anyone found with them, whether they’re talking to them or even giving them food so they don’t starve to death, is accused of treason and hung on the spot.

Dave would be dead before tomorrow. You’re not actually sure what would happen to Rose and John, but you have a feeling Rose would be locked in the manor for years and John would be stripped of his knighthood.

You have to save them from that, even if it means sacrificing yourself.

So you attack. You fling yourself at Dave, blinking away the tears in your eyes as you sink your unnaturally sharp canines into his arm. You pierce the fabric of his thin shirt easily, drawing blood within a single moment. The sharp taste makes bile raise in your throat. He’s screaming now, and you let go of him. Just before you pass, you whisper something to him.

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Why can't I save you,” he whispers back, but you know that he understands. You need him to do this for you; turn against you, so he can save himself.

You glance back as you hurry towards Rose and John only to see him frozen in place. Blood drips down his arm and stains the ground below, right where you fell.

His hand still grips your hat tightly.

“I’ll kill them!” You scream, your voice reaching a hysterical note. “I’ll kill both of them, just you watch!” You scream, and Rose and John are screaming back, but the fear in their eyes tells them that they understand, too.

“No! No!” Rose screams, but the guards hold her back.

“Let me go!” John shouts, and the guards holding him finally do. He spares you one last look, one full of regret, as the guards that once held him back surround you.

You struggle against the guards all you can, kicking and screaming and acting more like a rabid dog than the human you really are, but it’s a fruitless effort. There are simply too many of them, and they manage to quickly subdue you.

Both John and Dave are frozen. Rose is still screaming; no one can make out what she’s saying. Tears stream down her face, breaking through her porcelain mask to reveal the peachy skin below. Her eyes are surrounded by dark clouds.

The wind blows your hair into your face, obscuring your friends from view. You think a last goodbye as you’re dragged away from the only things you’ve ever loved.


	2. though i'm losing

The wind howls sharply into your ears, but the sting of pain is something that you can’t change. You can’t move at all, arms bound tightly behind your back like a prisoner on the executioner’s list (which you are, despite the fact that the only sin you ever committed was _trying to live_ ) and legs wrapped together at the ankles by heavy ropes. You might be able to bite through them, but leaning down that far would result in falling off of the horse you’re currently sitting on the rump of, right behind one of the faceless knights that captured you.

Not to mention the beating you’d receive. The mottled, purple bruise on your cheek throbs at the memory.

Your entire body aches, reaching deep into your heart as it twists in grief.

You hope your friends are alright.

The knights chat to themselves as they trot along a dusty path, cutting right by the forest you (once called, you suppose) home. On one side of you are trees, their leaves like flags in the air, beckoning you to come back; the other holds only dirt that turns to dust as the horses trot over it, and pale, dying grass. You whine somewhere deep in the back of your throat; a last goodbye to this land. Somehow, you know you’ll never see it again.

Maybe if you’re lucky, John will be the one to discover your small cottage when the knights eventually explore the forest. Maybe he’ll walk inside and see the drawings of himself and the others, and know that it once belonged to you. Maybe he’ll take your books (banned, have been since long before you were born) and keep them somewhere safe.

God, do you hate the word maybe. It’s something that’s ultimately completely useless; either it’ll happen, or it won’t. Maybe is a filler word that tries to hope, but falls short.

The castle that they’re taking you to finally comes into view. It’s built like a fortress, square and compact with squat lookout towers that barely stand above the border. Once upon a time it may have been beautiful, but all you see is a blurry square in the distance.

You forgot to wear your glasses out today. Didn’t think you would have needed them, since you were just buying a little food and visiting your friends. You lose your ability to see far away very clearly, but a little nearsightedness is an acceptable trade-off for blending in.

“I’ve heard rumors about this place,” one of the knights mutters, and your ears instantly swivel in his direction. No one comments on it; you don’t get the bare minimum of respect required in order to be noticed.

“You mean that fairy tale about the queen?” The one that you’re next to asks, laughing in a way that only brings images of condescending noblemen to your mind.

“Yeah. I wonder if it’s true?”

“It’s nothing more than a bedtime story.”

You have – _had_ \- a book on that very fairytale they’re mentioning.

Trolls were once a gigantic, resilient race of strange bug-like people with skin the color of ash and horns the color of a summer’s sunset. They used to rule over the entire planet, forcing humans to become their slaves and pets through magic and advanced sciences that humanity could ever quite duplicate. The trolls came in all shapes and sizes, and the colors that bloomed under their thick hides could be any color of the rainbow.

They lived under a harsh caste system, where blood color determined social status. Humans didn’t belong to this spectrum, and shared their blood with the swill running through the veins of animals. Thus, they were inferior.

(In all of history there have supposedly been two trolls that shared your blood color. Both staged glorious revolutions. Both failed bitterly. According to the legends, the first one believed that willpower could accomplish anything. His name gave birth to the word ‘can.’ The second had a fiery, sharp attitude, a prickly exterior, and garnered the respect of both humans and trolls alike. He died cold, starving, and alone; small, furry animals with pointed ears and long tails grieved by his corpse for seven harsh days and seven lonely nights. He became the namesake for the common, rat-eating cat.)

The empress of this race was a horrid monster of a beast. With horns that stretched upwards to infinity, gently sloping inwards like the symbol she decorated her land with and teeth that could shred even the toughest of leather into infinitely small pieces, she demanded both respect and fear. She ruled the world with an iron will. Supposedly, a successor with the same pink blood challenged her, and she grew too weak to defend her throne. By the time she killed the successor, she was too weak to regain power and faded into obscurity.

Her Imperious Condescension is now nothing but a villain of a fairy tale. Supposedly, her spirit lives on in the very castle you’re being taken to.

According to local superstition, when they trap you there, your bad energy will leech into the castle and weaken her spirit, preventing her from ever taking power again.

You think it is complete bullshit. You’re not a bad omen; no child like you is! You’re just different, that’s all.

The castle is closer now, and when you squint, you can make out a faded symbol decorating the front wall, two curved lines with one straight mark intersecting them both and bringing them together. The brick walls, while still sturdy, are faded gray with time, and the wood of the drawbridge below is splintered with age. The metal holding the planks together is a rusty red. The water flowing through the surrounding moat moves at a sluggish pace, crystallized water moving through without ever breaking its perfect surface. It’s a solemn goliath decorating the lonely cliffside.

All life has been extinguished here. The horses grow nervous, and you hear no birds chirping. Even the grass on the path is a wilted, desolate brown surrounding a dry, dirt path.

The wind screams in your ears, and you instinctively flatten them to the sides of your head. Regret swells within your chest as it throws your hair around and tears at your face. You shouldn’t have left your house today. If only it had been this windy in the morning when you actually left! Going a day or two without food is a small sacrifice for safety.

You sigh quietly, and drop the subject. No use dwelling on facts you can’t change.

The drawbridge is, by some stroke of fate, already lowered, though the creaking dip in the middle tells you that it hasn’t been raised for a long time. The horses pass over it hesitantly, hooves clapping loudly against the rotting wood. The knights urge them on, fearful mutterings about the trip back echoing under every breath there.

The group stops just past the drawbridge, creating an unbearable silence that stretches on past these walls and into eternity. They exchange professional, emotionless looks, like a bunch of puppets acting under one master.

The one you sit behind turns around to face you. His eyes refuse to meet yours. You growl, and spit in his face, landing right in his eye.

He swears, and his hand flicks upward, slamming right into your temple.

You feel yourself fall as the world goes dark around you, all light extinguished from existence.

*

Your vision returns long before your thoughts do.

What you take in: darkness, a square of light, illuminated by torches located somewhere far away. Gray. So much gray, gray covered in dust and dust covered in pure, lifeless gray.

A blast of pain, sharp and concentrated like a sharpened blade to the stomach, shoots through you, and the world snaps back into focus.

You lift your shaking hands and press them to the small window, too small for you to stick a hand through but just big enough to create hope.

So.

You never imagine you’d die like this; alone, waiting for death to bestow its final kiss upon you. You’ve always worried about starving to death, but now, the possibility stretches on, a lazy viper slowly coiling its way around your throat until you can no longer breathe.

You’d scream for help, if you didn’t already know it was useless.

It’s almost a little awe-inspiring, how much you don’t want to die. There’s nothing to go back to anymore (for a single moment, the ache in your chest overpowers the ache within your head as you remember what occurred just hours earlier), but you feel as if maybe you’re still destined for something greater.

That’s when you feel it. It starts out as a light tremor, gently rocking your tomb and sending you off balance so your side slams directly into the wall, but the force doubles instantly.

You’re thrown around your standing crypt, and it begins to tip over. A started yelp escapes your mouth, and you collapse to the ground in a heap of bruised elbows and skinned knees; your wounds from earlier sting in discordant unison.

You can’t see a single thing now, and when you grope your hand around, you feel your window beneath you, revealing only cold tile now. The dust sticks to your fingers, and you rub your fingers together until it dissipates.

With a heavy sigh, you roll onto your back, noticing a small crack of color running a ragged edge along your crypt. Curious, you push against it, and the stony material shifts slightly, allowing more light to pour onto you.

You whoop with delight at this sense of newfound hope reinvigorating your body, and you slam your shoulder into this almost-door, sending it flying open. Light floods into you, washes you in a gentle bath of orange and yellow reassurance.

You stand up, and look around. The room you’re in is vast, with a ceiling that never ends and staircases that fall just short of reaching Heaven itself. Torches line themselves along the edge of the wall, creating a path for your weak eyes to follow.

You force your gaze back down, examining the walls around you. Tombs - like the one you were just trapped in – are embedded into the stone, each with its own hand-carved area. You approach one, running your hands along the cracked gray clay and the inscription scrawled on it in an alien language.

You feel so small, and so very lucky.

A strange noise, like chains rattling against each other, breaks the silence, and you snap your head towards the sound. You have to crane your neck back all the way, and even then all you see is a black blur.

It’s a far-fetched idea, but maybe you’re not alone. “Hello!” You shout. “Is anyone up there?”

You hear a sharp gasp, and a blurred shape sticks out of the circle, moving frantically in the air. You have no clue what this could be, but all that really matters right now is that you’re not alone.

“Don’t worry!” You shout, your high voice swallowed by the void surrounding you. “I’ll get you out of there!”

The first dusty step beckons to you. You set your hand on it, leaving a perfect imprint over the stone, and begin to climb.


End file.
